"You were waiting for me, weren't you?" Pierre said to him, taking in
the situation at a glance. "Well, go and tell Monsieur Macquart that
I've come home. Go and ask for him at the Town Hall."
Cassoute rose and took himself off, with an awkward bow. He was going
to get himself arrested like a lamb, to the great delight of Pierre,
who laughed as he went upstairs, asking himself, with a feeling of vague
surprise: "I have certainly plenty of courage; shall I turn out as good
a diplomatist?"
Felicite had not gone to bed last night. He found her dressed in her
Sunday clothes, wearing a cap with lemon-coloured ribbons, like a lady
expecting visitors. She had sat at the window in vain; she had heard
nothing, and was dying with curiosity.
"Well?" she asked, rushing to meet her husband.
The latter, quite out of breath, entered the yellow drawing-room,
whither she followed him, carefully closing the door behind her. He sank
into an arm-chair, and, in a gasping voice, faltered: "It's done; we
shall get the receivership."
At this she fell on his neck and kissed him.
"Really? Really?" she cried. "But I haven't heard anything. Oh, my
darling husband, do tell me; tell me all!"
She felt fifteen years old again, and began to coax him and whirl round
him like a grasshopper fascinated by the light and heat. And Pierre,
in the effusion of his triumph, poured out his heart to her. He did not
omit a single detail. He even explained his future projects, forgetting
that, according to his theories, wives were good for nothing, and that
his must be kept in complete ignorance of what went on if he wished to
remain master.
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